I was twenty-four when I performed my first solo craniotomy. By twenty-seven, I was the youngest attending neurosurgeon in the country’s most prestigious hospital. They called me a prodigy. Now, those hands were wrapped in thick, white gauze, resting heavily on the coarse hospital sheets.

The doctor’s words from an hour ago still echoed in the hollow chamber of my mind.

“The nerve damage is extensive, Dr. Jones. We did what we could to repair the tendons, but… the tremors will likely be permanent. You will retain motor function for daily tasks, but surgery? I’m afraid that part of your life is over.”

I drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain medication pulling me under. Then, I heard voices.

“Are you seriously letting your wife send my brother to jail, Aiden?? You can’t make it happen, Aiden,” she hissed. “You can’t let him rot in a cell.”

“Amber, keep your voice down,” came the deep, familiar baritone of my husband. “You know what your brother did. He stabbed her, Amber. He destroyed her hands. The police are already involved.”

“Well, she did it to herself!” Amber spat back. I could practically hear her foot stomping. “She provoked him! She stole that surgical case from me, Aiden! It should have been me leading that team. It should have been my promotion. Ysabel knew I wanted it, and she took it anyway just to spite me.”

“He didn’t mean to do it,” Amber sobbed, her voice turning soft, manipulative. “He just meant to scare her. It was an accident. It all happened because she fought back. If she had just listened…”

“I know, I know,” Aiden sighed. I heard the rustle of fabric. “I’ll see what I can do. I can try to talk to the DA, maybe get the charges reduced to assault instead of attempted murder.”

“No,” Amber said, her voice turning hard. “That’s not enough. You have to choose, Aiden. Me or her.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The heart monitor beeped steadily next to me, a cruel metronome counting down the seconds of my marriage.

“You know I can’t just—”

“Then we should end this affair together!” Amber interrupted, her voice rising again. “I’m tired of being your secret, Aiden! I’m tired of hiding in the shadows when I don’t deserve this anymore. I love you, and I know you love me. But if you’re going to side with her against my family… if you want to be the dutiful husband to the woman who ruined my career… then let’s just stop.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Amber, please,” Aiden’s voice cracked. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to lose you. You know why I married her,” Aiden whispered. The tenderness in his voice—a tone he used to use with me—shattered whatever was left of my heart.

“It was my mother’s dying wish. She made me promise on her deathbed. Ysabel saved her life during that first stroke, and my mother felt we owed her. I shouldn’t have made that deal. I shouldn’t have married her out of obligation.”

I felt like I was bleeding out, but there was no wound on my body this time.

“I regret it every day,” he continued. "Because it has always been you, Amber. Always.”

“Then prove it,” she demanded again. “Save my brother. Don’t let her ruin my family like she ruined my career.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

Then, silence. Wet sounds. The unmistakable sound of kissing. My husband, comforting the sister of the man who had maimed me.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry out. The tears on my cheeks went cold. Something inside me, something soft and hopeful that I had nurtured for five years of marriage, withered and died.

I closed my eyes and feigned sleep.

An hour later, the door creaked open.

I waited a moment before fluttering my eyes open. Aiden was sitting in the chair beside the bed, still in his charcoal suit, looking every bit the grieving, concerned husband. He reached out and gently touched my shoulder.

“Ysabel?” he whispered. “You’re awake. Thank God. How are you feeling?” He leaned in, his brow furrowed with worry. “The doctor told me… about your hands. I am so sorry, Ysabel. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“My career is over, Aiden,” I said, my voice flat. “Antonio took everything from me.”

Aiden flinched at the name. He pulled back slightly, running a hand through his hair.

“About that,” I said, testing him. “I want to file the charges immediately. I want him in prison for life. You’re the best lawyer in the city. You’ll represent me, won’t you? We need to ensure he never touches a knife again.”

“Ysabel, listen,” he started, his voice taking on that smooth, persuasive cadence he used in the courtroom. “I’ve been thinking. And I’ve been looking at the situation from a legal standpoint.”

“And?”

“We shouldn’t file the lawsuit.”

I stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Think about it,” he said quickly, reaching for my bandaged hand but stopping just short of touching it. “It would be a huge scandal. ‘Prodigy Surgeon Maimed in Brawl.’ The press would have a field day. They would dig into everything. They might even twist it to say you provoked him, or that it was a lovers' quarrel gone wrong. It will taint your reputation.”

“My reputation?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Aiden, he stabbed me. I can’t operate anymore. What reputation am I saving?”

“Your dignity!” he insisted, his voice rising. “People can’t know you were taken out by a drunk in a parking lot. It makes you look weak. And besides… Antonio is mentally unstable. Sending him to jail won’t fix your hands, Ysabel. It will just drag us through the mud for years. Amber… Amber is devastated too. She’s willing to settle this quietly.”

“Quietly?” I felt the rage bubbling up, hot and acidic. “He ended my life, Aiden! He took the only thing I loved!”

“You have me!” Aiden snapped, his patience snapping. He stood up, pacing the small room. “Why isn’t that enough? Why do you have to be so vindictive? Be sane for once, Ysabel. Look at the bigger picture. If you sue him, you destroy Amber’s life too. Do you really want to be that person?”

I looked at him. The realization settled over me like a shroud.

“You’re refusing to take the case?” I asked softly.

“I’m refusing to let you make a mistake you’ll regret,” he said, smoothing his tie, thinking he had won. “I’m doing this for you, Ysabel. I won’t handle a case that destroys our privacy.”

“Fine,” I said.

Aiden let out a breath of relief. He smiled, that charming, winning smile. “Good. I knew you’d see reason. You just need to rest. We’ll get through this.”

“But,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through the air like the scalpel he refused to acknowledge. “If you don’t want to handle that case, you have to handle another one for me.”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything. What is it? A medical leave dispute? Insurance?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “No. Our divorce.”

"What?" Aiden laughed, a sharp, incredulous sound that bounced off the sterile walls. "You are asking me for a divorce? Are you insane?"

He stepped away from the door and walked back to the bedside, looming over me.

"Ysabel, look at you," he said, gesturing to my bandaged hands, to the IV drip, to the broken woman in the bed. "You’re in shock. You’re traumatized. You’re not thinking clearly. What are you going to do after? Hmm? You lost your hands. You lost your career. Without me, without the Smith and Miller name... you’re going to be nothing."

The words were meant to crush me. They were meant to remind me of my place—the orphan girl who got lucky, the prodigy who flew too high and crashed. But instead of breaking me, they calcified the resolve hardening in my chest.

"I’d rather be nothing than be married to a coward," I said quietly.

Aiden’s jaw tightened. "I am not a coward. I am being realistic. You can’t survive on your own right now. You need care. You need money for rehabilitation. Do you really think you can navigate a divorce while learning how to hold a spoon again?"

He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "Process it, Ysabel. Really think about it. Or divorce me. Go ahead. See how far you get without my support."

He didn't mean money. He meant power.

I stared at him, silence stretching between us like a loaded weapon. He expected me to fold. He expected the tears, the begging, the submission.

When I didn't speak, he sighed, straightening up and adjusting his cufflinks.

"Let’s not talk about this anymore," he said dismissively. "You’re emotional. It’s the medication. How about you rest and think about this after some time? Please? For me?"

Before I could answer, the door pushed open.

Amber walked in. She was wearing a pastel cardigan and holding a bouquet of lilies—my least favorite flower.

"Ysabel," she breathed. She looked at my hands and let out a choked sob. "Oh my god. I am so, so sorry."

I turned my head away, staring at the wall.

"I know you hate me right now," Amber continued, her voice trembling. "I know you hate Antonio. And you have every right to. He... he’s sick, Ysabel. He didn’t mean to ruin your life. I’ll pay for everything. The surgeries, the therapy. I’ll sell my car. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just... please don’t destroy him."

"Get out," I whispered.

"Ysabel!" Aiden barked, his voice sharp. "She is trying to apologize. Show some grace."

"Grace?" I looked back at them, my eyes burning. "Her brother stabbed me, Aiden. And you want me to show grace?"

"She is my best friend," Aiden said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "And she is here, humbling herself. You will listen to her."

He moved to stand behind Amber, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. The image was striking—the two of them, united against the invalid wife.

"Fine," I said, the word tasting like bile. "I’m listening."

"I just want you to know," Amber sniffled, wiping a tear. "That we can fix this. We can move past this. If you just... if you just agree not to press charges, we can handle Antonio privately. We can get him into a facility. He doesn't belong in prison, Ysabel. He’s family."

Aiden looked at me, his eyes pleading, silently reminding me of the threat he had just made. You’re going to be nothing.

I needed time. I needed to get out of this hospital. I needed to be smart.

"Okay," I lied. "I won't file the case."

The relief in the room was palpable. Aiden’s shoulders sagged. Amber let out a breathy laugh, reaching out to squeeze my forearm.

"Thank you," she gushed. "Oh, thank you, Ysabel. You’re a saint. Truly."

"We should go," Aiden said, checking his watch. "She needs to rest. We’ll come back tomorrow to check on your discharge papers."

"Rest well, Ysabel," Amber said.

They walked out together. I watched them through the crack in the door. As they walked down the hallway, I saw Aiden’s hand slide down to the small of her back. I saw her lean into him.

I waited until their footsteps faded.

Then, I struggled to sit up. I used my elbows to maneuver the phone on the bedside table. It was clumsy. It was humiliating. But I managed to hit the voice dial.

"Call Nathan Blackwood," I commanded.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

Nathan Blackwood. The only lawyer in the city who had ever beaten Aiden in court. They hated each other with a professional rivalry that bordered on blood sport.

"This is Blackwood," a deep, gravelly voice answered.

"Mr. Blackwood," I said, my voice steady despite the pain. "This is Dr. Ysabel Smith."

There was a pause. "Dr. Smith? Aiden’s wife? To what do I owe the pleasure? Is your husband looking to settle the grand merger?"

"No," I said. "I want to hire you. Attempted murder. Assault with a deadly weapon. Grievous bodily harm. Antonio Miller," I said.

"Why me?" Nathan asked finally. "Your husband is the best litigator in the state. Why are you calling his rival?"

"Because he won't take the case," I said, staring at my bandaged hands. "He’s protecting them. So I need someone who won't."

"I see," Nathan said. His tone had changed. It was sharp, predatory. "Well, Dr. Smith. I have to say... I’ve been waiting for a chance to wipe that smug look off Aiden’s face for a decade. I’ll be at the hospital in the morning."

Two days later, I was discharged.

The nurse wheeled me out to the curb where the town car was waiting. Aiden wasn't there. He had texted, saying he was "tied up in a meeting"—probably comforting Amber again.

I didn't care. I had the papers Nathan had drafted hidden in my bag.

As the driver opened the door, my phone buzzed. I fumbled to answer it with my bandaged fingers.

"Ysabel!"

It was Ben, Lucas’s manager. He was screaming.

"It’s over. Lucas is over."

"What?" I froze. "Ben, slow down."

"A video leaked," he choked out, the panic vibrating through the speaker. "Him hitting a woman. Shooting heroin. It’s a deepfake, Ysabel, but no one cares! The studio dropped him. Dior dropped him. The internet is calling him a monster."

My blood ran cold. My brother was the Golden Boy of Hollywood. He wouldn't hurt a fly. "That’s impossible."

"He couldn't take it," Ben sobbed. "I found him in the dressing room. An empty bottle of sleeping pills."

The world stopped.

"He tried to kill himself, Ysabel. He’s in the ICU."

"He’s stable, Ysabel," Dr. Aris repeated gently. "The stomach pump was successful. Now, we just wait for him to wake up. But..."

"But the world outside isn't waiting," I finished for him.

I could see it through the blinds. The news vans. The paparazzi swarming the hospital entrance like vultures. My phone was vibrating incessantly with notifications. Lucas Smith: Monster? Drug Addict? Abuser?

The deepfake was perfect. Terrifyingly perfect. It had destroyed a decade of hard work in an hour.

I touched Lucas’s cold hand with my bandaged fingers. "I’ll fix this," I whispered. "I promise."

I didn't know how. I was a surgeon who couldn't hold a scalpel. But I knew one man who could fix anything. So, I went home. I walked through the marble foyer, the silence of the house pressing against my ears.

I headed straight for his study. The heavy oak doors were slightly ajar. I raised my hand to push them open, desperate to beg him to use his connections, to sue the media outlets, to do something.

Then, I heard his voice.

"It’s done, Amber. Stop crying."

I froze. My hand hovered inches from the wood.

"Yes, the video is everywhere," Aiden said, his tone bored, clinical. "No, it won't be traced back to me. I used the offshore server. Lucas is finished. His career is dead."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

"I had to do it," Aiden continued, a dark edge entering his voice. "Ysabel hired Nathan Blackwood. She thought she could go behind my back? She thought she could file a criminal case against your brother after I told her to stop? This is her punishment. She needs to learn that actions have consequences."

I couldn't breathe.

I kicked the door open. It slammed against the wall with a deafening bang.

Aiden spun around in his leather chair, the phone still pressed to his ear. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and then, terrifyingly, they went calm. He didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed.

"I have to go," he said into the phone, and hung up.

"You," I choked out, the word tearing from my throat. "You did this? You ruined Lucas?"

Aiden stood up, smoothing his suit jacket. "I did what was necessary."

"He’s innocent!" I screamed, marching toward him. "He’s my brother! He tried to kill himself, Aiden! He’s in a coma because of you! For what? For Antonio? For a drunk who stabbed your wife?"

"For order!" Aiden slammed his hand on the desk. "You defied me, Ysabel. I told you to drop it. I told you to let it go. But you had to call Blackwood. You had to escalate it. You forced my hand."

"I forced you to frame a movie star for heroin use?" I laughed, a manic, broken sound. "You’re a monster. You’re sick."

"I am protecting my family!"

"I am your family!" I shrieked. "I am your wife!"

"Amber is family!" he roared back. "I have known her my entire life. Her pain is my pain. And you... you are just being vindictive. Filing that case would have ruined Amber’s reputation by association. It would have ruined my reputation. I saved you from making a public spectacle of yourself."

"By ruining my brother’s image?" I spat at him. "By driving him to suicide?"

I lunged at him. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to scratch that smug look off his face with my useless, bandaged claws.

Smack.

The sound was a crack of thunder.

My head snapped to the side. The sting on my cheek was instantaneous, hot and sharp. I stumbled back, clutching the edge of the desk for support.

Silence filled the room. Heavy. Suffocating.

I touched my cheek. He had slapped me. Aiden, the man who had vowed to cherish me, had struck me.

"That," Aiden said, his voice terrifyingly low, "is what happens when you defy me."

He walked around the desk, towering over me. He didn't look sorry. He looked powerful.

"I told you to stop. Now, are you going to stop? Or do I need to find something else you love to destroy?"

I looked up at him through a blur of tears. I saw the truth then. There was no love here. There never had been. I was a possession. And now, I was a broken possession.

But Lucas. Lucas was still lying in that hospital bed. If the scandal continued, he would wake up to nothing.

"Fix it," I whispered.

"Excuse me?" Aiden cupped his ear mockingly.

"Fix it," I said, my voice trembling. "Clear his name. Release the proof that it’s a deepfake. Please. I’ll do anything."

Aiden smiled. It was a cruel, satisfied curving of his lips. He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms.

"Then beg me."

I stared at him. "What?"

"You heard me," he said softly. "Beg me. Show me that you understand who is in control here. Show me that you’re done fighting."

My pride screamed. Every fiber of my being wanted to spit in his face. But the image of Lucas’s pale face flashed in my mind.

Slowly, painfully, I lowered my head.

"Please," I croaked. "Please, Aiden. Save my brother. I’m begging you."

Aiden watched me for a long moment, drinking in my humiliation like fine wine. Then, his face softened. The monster receded, replaced by the mask of the doting husband.

"Good girl," he murmured.

He reached out and stroked the cheek he had just slapped. I flinched, but I didn't pull away.

"I’m sorry it had to come to this," he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I really am. I’ll make the call. The video will be debunked by morning. Lucas will be the victim of a cyber-attack. He’ll be a hero."

I nodded, staring at his shoes.

"Now," Aiden said, clapping his hands together. "Let’s put this behind us. How about a date? Just the two of us. To make sure everything is going to be okay. To reset. Okay?"

He looked at me expectantly.

"Okay," I whispered.

"Go get changed," he said, kissing my forehead. "Wear something red. I love you in red."

I walked out of the study. I walked up the stairs. I walked into our bedroom.

I didn't cry. I was done crying.

I went into the walk-in closet and pulled out the red dress. But before I put it on, I sat on the floor and pulled out my burner phone.

I dialed Nathan.

"Delay the criminal case," I said, my voice void of emotion. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The red mark on my cheek was already bruising. "Process something else for me instead. Immediately."

"What is it?"

"My divorce papers," I said. "Draft them. Irreconcilable differences. Adultery. Abuse."

"Music to my ears," Nathan said.

"And Nathan?"

"Yes?"

I took a deep breath. "If you’re really up for revenge," I said, my voice cold as steel. "If you really want to destroy Aiden Smith… How about you marry me?"